The Good, the Bad, and the Meddlesome
by Italian.CtrlFrk
Summary: Bilbo is sick and tired of adventures. He is also sick and tired of Thorin being an ass. Gandalf notices, and, in his usual twinkly way, sets about making things right. Except, his definition of "right" may involve a little more romance than Bilbo had been counting on. But, by the time he finds this out, it's already much too late. Or the one where Gandalf plays matchmaker.


Merry Christmas motherfuckers, have some Thilbo.

(LOL New Year's Resolution: upload one fic and only one fic for each Hobbit movie just to make them squirm. No JK I'm just lazy as fuck)

(also forgive the stupid ass lines in the middle of the story, stupid FF won't let me do my usual story breaks)

* * *

If there was one thing that Bilbo was absolutely, positively sure of, it was that he would never be stepping foot out of his hobbit hole again. That is, if he even got back to his hobbit hole, which was looking increasingly unlikely. The adventure he had partaken in was a complete disaster. On top of the problems he encountered simply by traveling with the other partakers in this particular adventure (Thorin absolutely despised him, the dwarves were messy, loud and generally very _odd _and _un-hobbit-like_, and Gandalf seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from leaving Bilbo completely in the dark about any actual plans), their small company was being constantly bombarded with unsavory company, from orcs to wargs to trolls, and Bilbo was done with it all. He had come along craving an adventure, but what he got instead was a sweaty, sore, miserable, hateful excuse for one. Maybe if Thorin didn't hate his guts, he would be able to bear it. Against his better judgment, he actually liked Thorin (as much as one could like someone who not only hated your guts but also scared the Aule out of you), and it hurt more than Bilbo cared to admit that the dwarf king didn't like him. In fact, he oftentimes went out of the way to be nice and helpful to Thorin, but all it got him were cold glares and sharp words, and he was just about ready to turn his pony around and march right back from the way he came.

"My dear fellow, you look rather cross," Gandalf said in an awfully cheery voice from beside him, and Bilbo sank down into his saddle, scowling.

"I am perfectly fine, thank you for asking," he said (rather crossly) and continued to glare at the back of Thorin's head. Gandalf simply smiled.

"It seems as though you have a bone to pick with our dear Thorin. Perhaps you should like some advice?" Bilbo merely snorted, which Gandalf seemed to take as affirmation, and continued on, "A dwarf's friendship can be hard to win, especially when that dwarf is Thorin Oakenshield, but a good way to start is by offering to clean his weapon," at this Bilbo looked up.

"Offer to clean his weapon? I am a Baggins, not a mere servant!" Bilbo replied in indignation. Gandalf chuckled lightly.

"Master Baggins, of course you are not a servant! The dwarves do not see anyone they do not trust fit to clean their weapons. It is a highly honored task, and one I think our Thorin Oakenshield would entrust upon you," Gandalf replied, and Bilbo scowled.

"Gandalf, you have surely noticed that Thorin not only doesn't trust me, but goes out of his way to make that known to everyone. Why in the world would he ever give me the task of cleaning his sword, should that even be an honor at all?" Bilbo asked irately, rather fed up with the meddlesome wizard and his ramblings. Gandalf chuckled, and Bilbo noticed an odd twinkle in his eye.

"Let's call it an instinct," Bilbo simply grumbled and continued to plod on. Gandalf smiled to himself. This should prove to be an entertaining distraction.

* * *

Bilbo thought and thought again about what the wizard had said over the next days. He was still unable to see how cleaning a weapon was supposed to be an honor, or how Thorin trusted him enough to let him perform that honor, but he was growing more desperate. The dwarves were still as noisy and odd as ever, Thorin was even worse, if that was possible, and to add on top of everything bad happening already, it had been raining non-stop for two days. Bilbo was miserable; so miserable, in fact, he was ready to try just about anything to make this so-called adventure easier. And so on the third night after Gandalf had spoken with the hobbit, in a fit of decidedly Tookish behavior, Bilbo squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and marched over to where the dwarf king was spread out next to the fire.

"Thorin, may I have the honor of cleaning your weapon?" he asked determinedly, and immediately all the talking stopped. Bilbo felt 13 pairs of eyes boring into him, and any courage those thrice damned Tooks gave him vanished quickly. Perhaps this had been a mistake; maybe Gandalf hadn't known what he had been talking about after all. The hobbit flushed lightly and looked down at Thorin, who was frozen in place, staring at the hobbit with a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and wary apprehension. Bilbo reddened more.

"I-it was just a suggestion, I didn't mean…" Bilbo mumbled to his feet, and had turned around to walk away when a large hand clasped around his wrist. Bilbo looked back at Thorin, who was sitting up now and had the oddest look in his eyes. The king stared at him intensely for several moments before reaching over and grabbing his sword, never breaking eye contact, and placing it gently in his hand. Bilbo swallowed, and Thorin let go of his wrist.

"Have it done by morning, Burglar," he said gruffly, his voice strained. Bilbo frowned slightly, but was too eager to get away from the eyes of the dwarves to really put up a fight. He turned around to walk back to his comfortable perch on a log, and suddenly the dwarves erupted, laughing and whistling and clapping. Bilbo gave them a stern glance, not appreciating being made fun of, before walking away and leaving them to holler into the night. He shook his head in disapproval. Dwarves and their customs. He would never get it.

* * *

After that night, Bilbo noticed a slight shift in the behaviors of the dwarves, mainly on the part of one Thorin Oakenshield. He wasn't nicer _per se_, it was more just that he seemed to actually notice Bilbo now. The hobbit would catch him looking intently at him from across the fire, a dark sort of look in his eyes, or he would thwap Bilbo on the back after a particularly vigorous day, or he would ride next to the hobbit instead of one of his nephews. It was weird, and it was creeping Bilbo out. He had almost preferred it when Thorin had openly hated him; at least then he was sure of where they stood. Now it was just a huge jumbled mess, and while Bilbo was sure they weren't friends, he was sure they weren't enemies, and he also had his doubts about lying somewhere in the middle. It was all very ridiculous and it hurt his brain.

"You don't appear to have found much solace in my advice, my friend," came the rumbling of a perpetually amused wizard from beside him. Bilbo sat up straighter in his saddle.

"No, Gandalf, I did _not_ find much solace in your advice. In fact, it has given me much more trouble than it was worth," he replied stiffly. He knew that he was being awfully rude, but he couldn't make himself care. The situation was much too frustrating for him to be worrying about manners.

"My dear fellow, you must be able to see the change that has been brought about in our dear king Thorin!" Gandalf exclaimed, perturbed.

"Yes, Gandalf, he has _changed_, but he has changed in ways that have made me exceedingly uncomfortable! How am I supposed to eat or sleep or bathe or do _anything_ in peace when he's constantly staring at me? Dwarves simply have no sense of manners, do they?" Bilbo exclaimed right back, and Gandalf, damn him, just chuckled.

"Ah, yes, I suppose that Thorin can come off a bit broody at times. He is still warming up to you, after all. Perhaps you should like some more advice?" Bilbo really did not want any more advice. In fact, he was rather fed up with the wizards meddling, and would very much like to be left alone to sulk in peace, but he doubted that Gandalf would leave him alone no matter what he said, so instead he settled for grumbling under his breath.

"I suggest you ask him to carry your bedroll," Gandalf said all too happily, and Bilbo nearly choked on his spit.

"Ask _Thorin Oakenshield _to carry my _bedroll_?" he asked, dumbstruck that the wizard would suggest anything that ludicrous. Gandalf just smiled, eyes twinkling mirthfully.

"My dear Bilbo, you must remember that dwarven customs are different than hobbit customs. When one asks a dwarf to carry ones bedroll, they are expressing their trust in that dwarf," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Bilbo thought it was rather dumb, actually. Also, did everyone need to go around expressing their trust in everyone else by doing things for them? That must get rather tiresome.

"Dwarves just _love _this trust thing, don't they?" Bilbo muttered under his breath, and Gandalf just beamed brighter at him. Stupid wizard.

* * *

Bilbo wasn't planning on taking Gandalf's advice. Honestly. He was planning to ignore Thorin, ignore Gandalf, and ignore the stupid fluttering feeling in his stomach that had started popping up at the most inconvenient times, and maybe, if he ignored them all hard enough, they would go away. The problem with that plan, however, was that it didn't work. If anything, Thorin was staring more and more in the most inconvenient places and at the most inconvenient times, such as when Bilbo was changing or bathing or the one memorable time that he woke up to Thorin's face a foot from his.

So while Bilbo hadn't been planning on taking Gandalf's advice, he found himself so fed up one morning with Thorin's odd behavior and the irritating spike in occurrences of the fluttering feeling that he rolled up his bedroll, marched across the camp, and thrust it in Thorin's face.

"Thorin, will you carry my bedroll today?" he asked, ignoring the stares of the other dwarves. They could go and get chomped to death by a troll for all he cared, he just wanted everything to go back to normal. Thorin stared at the bedroll, then at Bilbo, then back at the bedroll, and the strangest look came across his face. Finally he took the bedroll, and, without a word, tied it next to his.

Bilbo sighed, relieved. He didn't doubt that Gandalf knew what he was talking about, but he also didn't doubt that Gandalf wouldn't hesitate to make a fool out of every single person in the party if it meant he would be entertained. But Thorin had accepted, and Bilbo's Took side was satisfied (and easily quashable), so he turned his back without another word and made his way back to his pony. Only, when he got there, he realized Thorin had followed him, and, before he could so much as blink, was lifting him up into the saddle.

Bilbo squawked indignantly, flailing as he was placed on the pony, and stared down at Thorin in disbelief. What on earth was the dwarf king thinking? Bilbo was a respectable hobbit, thank you very much, and he did not appreciate being thrown about. He was also perfectly capable of mounting a pony. In fact, he had been doing it since the day they left, and Thorin hadn't seemed to care about his struggling then, had he?

Thorin just looked back up at him, blinked once, grazed his fingers along Bilbo's calf, and turned and left.

This was all getting very confusing.

* * *

It appeared that the universe was determined to only make it more confusing. Thorin no longer stared at him as much, which was nice, he supposed, but instead he actually started doing things for Bilbo. Like getting him his dinner every night, and adding a little of his own in. Or giving Bilbo extra blankets at night. Or carrying not only his bedroll, but also his extra tunic and socks. It made Bilbo even more uncomfortable then the staring had.

It also made that fluttering feeling more intense.

Every time Thorin did something specifically for Bilbo, heat spread down his spine and exploded into millions of butterflies in his stomach, making him shiver. It was immediate, and it was oddly pleasant.

Bilbo hated it.

He hated it because he didn't know what it was, or why it was happening, or what Thorin was thinking, or why Gandalf had planted the stupid idea that he should try and get Thorin to like him in his head in the first place, and he hated it because he liked it without caring that he didn't know any of those things. Bilbo was a hobbit, and hobbits were not impulsive or irrational. Hobbits didn't take the advice of wizards or try to befriend dwarves. Hobbits didn't like fluttering feelings in their stomachs that erupted when kings gave them food or blankets.

But most of all, Bilbo hated it because Gandalf was so damn smug, and that old git of a wizard was the reason Bilbo was in this position in the first place.

"Bilbo! How is our esteemed burglar faring?" Speak of the devil. Bilbo was really beginning to hate these little chats he and Gandalf were having.

"Rather uncomfortably. Thorin has taken to picking me up like a child and slamming me down in my saddle every morning for some reason, and I think I am beginning to form bruises," he replied, irritation thick in his voice. Beside him, Gandalf looked aghast.

"Oh dear! Please do not tell me that you can't see what is right in front of you," he said, scandalized. Bilbo groaned.

"You know, wizard, it would be much easier to see what is right in front of me if you told me what that might be," He said, but he already knew it was pointless.

"Ah ah ah, you must discover it yourself, or it loses its meaning! I am afraid that I am unable to help you in that regard. I can, however, offer you one last piece of advice. You may find that it clears things up a bit," Gandalf was back to his twinkly, smiley self, and Bilbo was about ready to slam his head into a nearby tree.

"I would really rather not receive any more advice, Gandalf," he said, already defeated.

"Come now Bilbo, when have I ever led you astray?" Every time he ever tried to lead Bilbo anywhere was the answer, but the hobbit stayed quiet, knowing it was hopeless. Anyway, it wasn't like he was going to take the wizards advice.

Not to mention that Gandalf's eyes were twinkling like mad and Bilbo would very much like to get away from him as quickly as possible.

"Now, my dear hobbit, you must ask Thorin to braid your hair," Bilbo stared.

"Why in the name of Aule would I do that?" he asked, unable to stop himself. It was preposterous! Hobbits do not braid their hair – hobbits do not _have_ hair that is long enough to braid! But Gandalf was sitting there, pleased as can be, as though it were the best idea anyone had ever come up with.

"Bilbo, Bilbo, how many times have I told you? Dwarf customs are very different from hobbit customs. To a dwarf, entrusting someone to braid their hair and braiding another's hair is only something that the closest friends and family do. It will prove to Thorin without a doubt of your intentions,"

Yeah. Sure. Bilbo wasn't even sure what his intentions were anymore. All he really wanted was for things to go back to when Thorin hated his guts. Bilbo scowled and sank further down in his saddle.

Gandalf, per usual, simply smiled.

* * *

This time, Bilbo couldn't even blame Thorin's incessant oddities for taking Gandalf's advice. All he had to blame were his own curiosity, that thrice damned fluttering feeling, and the realization that Thorin was one of the best people he would ever meet.

It was just another night, as normal as can be. Bilbo was eating next to the fire, Thorin sitting silently several feet to his right, and Bilbo was trying desperately to clamp down the butterflies that seemed to appear every time he was within ten feet of the would-be king. He chanced a glance over at Thorin. He was backlit by the last rays of the setting sun, and for the first time, Bilbo noticed something glinting in his hair. It was a bead. The hobbit knew that dwarves braided their hair and that some capped the braids with beads, but he had never noticed that the dwarf king wore one. He wondered whether it meant anything.

"Where did you get that bead?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. Thorin looked over at him, and Bilbo blushed brightly, looking back down at his stew.

"It was my mother's," a soft rumble came from beside him, "She gave it to me before I left home for the first time,"

Bilbo glanced from under his lashes, eyes immediately glued on the bead again.

"It's very pretty," he said softly, unsure of where this tentative conversation was going and why the butterflies were increasing tenfold.

"Yes," Thorin agreed, dark eyes looking intensely at Bilbo. The hobbit flushed even deeper, grasping for something else to say.

"Uh, does it- does it mean anything?" He asked, looking back at the fire.

"No,"

"Oh," Bilbo coughed awkwardly.

"The braids do, though," Thorin was still staring at Bilbo.

"Oh. What- what do the braids mean?" Despite his embarrassment, Bilbo felt a small spark of curiosity. Dwarven culture was so different than anything he had ever experienced, and it was fascinating learning about it.

As long as Gandalf wasn't the teacher. Stupid wizard.

"Different braids mean different things. My braids represent my coming of age, my royalty, and… my dishonor," Bilbo looked up at Thorin in surprise.

"Dishonor?" Thorin nodded, eyes finally leaving Bilbo's face to look at the fire.

"I put it in when we were driven from Erebor, and vowed not to take it out until I reclaimed our homeland. My family failed our people, and I will bear that burden until I have righted the wrong that has been done. The dwarves are suffering – have been for centuries – and I cannot simply sit by idly watching the havoc that my father and my father's father created, knowing that I have the duty and ability to fix it. So I swore that I would hold the dishonor of my predecessors so the people know that the royal family is taking the responsibility that they ought to take," Thorin's voice was melodic, never wavering, blatant and raw and honest, and Bilbo felt a sudden surge of respect and affection for the would-be king. He gave so much, his whole life, for the better of his people, and expected nothing in return. It was then that Bilbo made up his mind, and, for once, acted completely as a Baggins.

"Thorin, I would be honored if you would braid my hair," Thorin looked up sharply, eyes skittering across Bilbo's face, face bearing the same unreadable expression that Bilbo had been seeing more and more, but Bilbo was calm. He would gladly follow any dwarven customs, no matter how strange, if it meant that Thorin knew he had a true friend. The fluttering feeling flared up even further when he thought of Thorin as a friend, but he refused to think about it and instead squashed it down.

"Are you sure, Halfling?" Thorin's voice suddenly sounded jagged and rough.

"Yes, I'm sure," Bilbo thought it a little odd how strong Thorin's reaction was, but, as Gandalf mentioned over and over again, dwarven culture was very different than hobbit culture. Perhaps braiding hair truly was a great honor.

"Very well, hobbit. I-I would very much like to braid your hair,"

Suddenly the camp erupted into cheers, and both Thorin and Bilbo scowled heavily. Stupid dwarves.

* * *

It felt wonderful.

Thorin had led Bilbo to the nearby stream to get away from the rowdy and irritating and eavesdropping dwarves. They were seated on a rock on the bank, in blessed silence, and Bilbo was able to see the moon reflected in the water.

Bilbo had been unsure of what it would feel like to have Thorin's big, calloused hands in his hair, but the dwarf king was surprisingly gentle, careful not to pull too hard or catch his fingers in knots. It was amazing. Thorin's nails would scratch lightly against his scalp, sending shivers down his spine that culminated in more butterflies in his stomach, and the gentle, rhythmic tugs against his hair made bumps crawl up and down his arms.

Thorin was silent, which Bilbo was thankful for. He was feeling such a confusing mixture of emotions he wasn't sure he would be able to talk without saying something embarrassing. Besides, there was something incredibly serene about sitting by the water, Thorin's hands twisted in his hair, the reason for which he would rather not have to think about.

The night seemed to drag on, the fingers in his hair never ceasing, and Bilbo was in the process of falling asleep when Thorin's hands stopped moving. He blinked several times to clear the sleep fogging them, and looked over his shoulder at Thorin.

"Can I look now?" He asked, his voice seemingly loud after so long of silence. Thorin nodded silently, and Bilbo walked to the stream, looking down at his reflection illuminated by the moon. It took his breath away.

He had two braids in his hair on either side of his head, starting from his temples, moving into intricate whirls above and behind his ears, before tapering down and appearing to disappear into the rest of his hair. They were… beautiful.

"Wow," he said quietly, reaching up to lightly touch the swirl near his left ear. He turned to look at Thorin, wonder in his eyes, only to find that the dwarf had moved to stand behind him. His eyes were soft and dark, mouth open slightly, and he was staring at the braid that Bilbo had just touched.

"They become you," he said, voice thick as honey, and before Bilbo knew what was happening, he leaned forward and slanted his lips against the hobbits. The butterflies exploded, and for several moments, all Bilbo could do was clutch Thorin's vest. When he came to his senses, however, he quickly pushed against Thorin's chest and stumbled backwards.

What was _that_? Gandalf had certainly never mentioned _that_ as part of dwarven culture. Bilbo touched his lips, the fluttering in his stomach still raging like mad, and stared at Thorin.

"I- What was that?" he asked, hand still brushing his bottom lip. Thorin stared at him.

"Do they not kiss in your culture, hobbit?" Thorin asked, bewildered.

"No, no they do but- it's usually reserved for those- those in romantic relationships," Bilbo replied quickly, blush rising fast and furious on his cheeks.

"Yes, hobbit, too in dwarven culture. That is why I did it," Bilbo let his hand drop to his side.

"No but- we- this isn't- what?" Bilbo was very confused. He had simply been trying to be Thorin's friend (shut up butterflies), he had no idea how this had happened.

"I believe that there has been a misunderstanding," Thorin said stiffly, and Bilbo saw his face suddenly shutter closed. He turned to walk away, but Bilbo was frozen. Thorin had thought they were… together? How could there possibly have been a misunderstanding? He had been simply performing dwarven customs of friendship, it didn't make any sense that Thorin had thought they were…

"You may want to take out those braids. They are courting braids," Thorin said softly over his shoulder, fists clenched by his sides.

Oh Aule. Gandalf.

Without even thinking about it, he lurched forward, reaching to grab Thorin's wrist. The dwarf king stopped, his whole body vibrating with tension, and Bilbo rested his head against his back.

"I- I have been talking to Gandalf and… I think… He has been…" This was useless. Bilbo took a deep breath, "I was caught off guard. That had not been my intention, but- but that doesn't mean that I would be adverse to… trying this out," He managed to stumble out, glad that Thorin's back was turned to him. The butterflies were practically fighting a war in his stomach, and he finally knew why.

Thorin turned around. His expression was still hard, but Bilbo saw a spark of something in his eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked for the second time that evening, and Bilbo knew without a doubt was his answer was.

"Yes, you thickheaded dwarf, now shut up and kiss me," he breathed out, relief flooding his veins, and this time when Thorin's lips met his own, and their tongues met tentatively, it was perfect.

He was still going to kill Gandalf, though. Dwarven friendship customs, Bilbo's ass.


End file.
